


Metamorphosis

by sarasaurusrex



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Comforting Sam Winchester, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Past Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Past Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23976304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarasaurusrex/pseuds/sarasaurusrex
Summary: Sam grieves for Jess, written from Dean’s perspective with implied past-Wincest. Set in season 1. With art!
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	Metamorphosis

**Author's Note:**

> Who's having a great time in quarantine?!?! :D (not me) So here's my attempt at breaking writer's/artist's block!
> 
> Edit: I just realized it’s Sam’s birthday! Happy Birthday Sam!!!
> 
> Beta-ed by the fabulous [Banshee1013](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banshee1013/pseuds/Banshee1013)!

It had been a long time since Sam and Dean were together. A lot had changed between them in those few years. Sammy had gotten taller. His hair was a little longer. And he was living with a beautiful girl named Jess. Dean almost regretted coming when he saw her. He had been expecting this, and yet his stomach and heart had become so intertwined, knots so thick he couldn’t trace the roots of his feelings. 

Some things hadn’t changed at all, however. Sam still complained about Dean’s music and the greasy road food. He still smiled reluctantly when Dean cracked a joke. The time that had elapsed between them swam temporarily unnoticed, a monstrous shadow under the water. Despite feeling happier than he had in years, Dean could feel the water slowly rising around his ankles, sticking to the weight of his own selfish intentions. 

They shared a motel room for the first time in years while on the hunt for the weeping woman. As Dean lay beneath the thin sheets, he was bombarded with memories of being a little kid and having nightmares about his mother’s death. He remembered how Sammy, intuitive for his age, would climb into Dean’s bed and quiet his mind with comfort. But Dean wasn’t sharing a motel room with Sammy anymore. Sammy was gone, and in that moment Dean realized that while Sam had grown up, Dean hadn’t changed a bit. Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice that Sam’s silence meant he wasn’t sleeping, either.

It took a lot to watch Sam go the first time, and even more the second. With the weeping woman gone and Sam’s interview the next day, Dean dropped him back off at Jess’s. Ironic that it was Jess that made Dean doubt his own motives, and now it was Jess that made Dean accept that he had to let Sammy go. If Sam had a shot at happiness, then Dean would fight to the very end to make sure he got it. He’d finish the hunt for their father on his own.

Then everything changed. In ten short minutes, Jess was dead and Dean was pulling Sam from the flames for the second time in their lives. This time with Sam thrashing and screaming. This time without their dad to carry them both out of harm’s way. He dragged Sam across the street and watched as the flames devoured the last remains of Sammy alongside Jess in that one bedroom house, spilling smoke and ash into the air like the branches of a rotting tree.

It had been a long time since Sam and Dean were together. Somehow, in the course of two days, everything had changed. Sam’s grief was worse than any pain Dean had ever felt. Guilt and blame bubbled up in him like bile. At last he understood his father’s fear, his anger and regret, and if Dean wasn’t so committed not to repeat John’s mistakes he might have cut himself off from Sam just to save himself from his own pain. 

Sam no longer smiled at Dean’s jokes. He didn’t complain about the music or the food. The distance between them, once a slowly rising sea, had transmuted. Sam’s vengeance was impenetrable and blind, a noxious fog that burned the eyes and lungs. All those years Sam had butted heads with John, Dean finally understood why. Sam was more like John than Dean had ever been. John’s empty, determined eyes stared out from beneath Sam’s bangs, watching the fields pass outside the Impala’s windows.

That night Sam went to bed early, feigning sleep for hours while Dean quietly researched their father’s coordinates in the mouldy motel room light. When Sam finally fell asleep Dean heard his breathing become shallow. Sporadic. Pained. He was having a nightmare. Dean’s heart dropped like a stone into his stomach. He didn’t know why he didn’t expect it. He wanted nothing but to crawl alongside Sam and comfort him as Sam whined and winced, but he didn’t. So much had changed between them. Anger and grief tormented Dean, mocking his inability to help Sam that only way he knew how. Mocking his own instincts and desires. When he managed to wake Sam, Sam denied being pale and drenched in sweat and rolled over to feign sleep once more. Dean let him, his insides turned to stone.

The nightmares became a nightly occurrence, then they stopped completely. Sam no longer slept, and the moments he passed out in the Impala were marred by nightmarish sounds until at last, in a moment of weakness, Sam passed out in their motel room. Dean left to get a drink, but the low light of the bar was no safer a place for Dean’s raw and reeling mind. He returned to the motel room soon after and a strange sound greeted him.

It had been a long time since Sam and Dean were together, but there was one thing that hadn't changed a bit—The sound of Sammy’s stifled sobs. Dean moved to the edge of the bed as if propelled by a silent, angelic force and sat down. He put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. He half expected Sam to shrug it off, but Sam gripped his hand back. They didn’t speak. Their eyes didn’t penetrate the darkness. They just held hands while Sam buried his face into his pillow, shaking. And when Sam didn’t let go but continued to sob, Dean laid down beside him. He pulled Sam to him and held him close, and Sam didn’t push him away. He didn’t yell and fight. He cried into his brother’s chest, unable to deny the comfort he needed so badly. 

Dean knew things would never be the way they once were, but at least one thing hadn’t changed—In that moment, with Sammy curled up and crying in his arms, Dean knew that he would die for his little brother, and he knew that Sam would still do the same for him.


End file.
